


it's you i want & no one else

by helenecixous



Category: Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Tumblr Prompt, thanks tiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7049245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s almost enough to make her laugh - the fact that she’s worrying about Catherine, Catherine, who seems to actively seek out the roughest jobs she can lay her hands on. Catherine, who knows what she’s doing more than anybody else could even hope to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's you i want & no one else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claireunderwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claireunderwood/gifts).



The first time Kirsten meets Catherine Cawood, the detective’s sporting a bruise around her eye and cheek, and she's got a vague shadow of fingerprints around her throat. The bruises are old, fading, varying shades of purple, black, yellow, and green, but Kirsten's still a little taken aback. Catherine looks pleased, happy with life, and she's grinning as she shakes Kirsten's hand and then she's off talking to some other students who are about to take their exams. Kirsten appreciates the lecture that Catherine delivered - it helps her feel better about her chances of getting her foot in the door, and later, when she's at home trying to study, her thoughts keep returning to the detective. After three hours, she gives up and goes to bed. 

 

The next time Kirsten sees Catherine, she's unpacking her things, arranging them on the desk that's now hers, and Catherine's down the hall arguing with one of her superiors. She's shouting something about them not listening to her,  _ “it's not you who's going t’ lose something because of this bastard!”  _ The whole office is subdued, because they respect her, they all love her, she's their boss, and they all know that she'd do anything for them. Kirsten looks down, studies her shoes, doesn't like how upset the other woman sounds. She shifts her foot and she notices a grass stain along the hem of her trousers, bright green against the black of her new uniform. She's about to try to rub it off when Catherine walks through and into her office, and they all wince when she slams the door behind her.

 

Kirsten's been there for a few months, had a few conversations with Catherine but mostly she's just spent time with Shafiq. She comes into the office and sits down, and it takes her a few seconds to notice that they're all silent. She looks around, is about to ask what's going on, when the door to Catherine's office opens and Catherine steps out. She's wearing a dark green hoodie and jeans, the sleeves tugged down over her fingers and she's twisting the fabric anxiously, and she's got tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. When Kirsten looks past her she sees that the office is empty. Catherine leaves, looking as though she's aged ten years since Kirsten last saw her two days ago. Kirsten turns to Shafiq, who looks like he's about to cry himself. He tells her that Catherine's daughter committed suicide last night, that Catherine's taking time off. Kirsten nods silently, and the rest of the day is tentative and slow.

 

She's unreasonably happy when Catherine comes back. The whole team had been resentful of the person who’d replaced her - none of them had even bothered to learn his name, and Kirsten tries to feel sorry for him and make an effort, at least. She fails. The older woman now stands in front of them and she looks worn, more burdened than the last time they all saw her, but she looks happy enough. It’s as though no time has passed at all, she fits right in, but then that’s probably because the gap she occupies is a perfect Catherine-size. She tells them that she's returning as sergeant, and nobody asks her why. Twiggy tells her that he's happy to see her again, and Catherine accuses him of going soft, and she's laughing as she pulls her fluorescent green uniform jacket on and tugs it to straighten it out. She meets Kirsten's gaze directly and winks as she tells them that all she's one of them again;  _ “shitty uniform an’ all.” _

 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Catherine pops her head around the door and asks Kirsten if she wants to come out for a drink later. Kirsten says yes, obviously, and cancels her dinner plans with Ollie. It’s pissing it down with rain; has been all day, and Catherine’s just got back from arresting some little bastard. She looks content as she always does after she’s had a bit of a fight, and she leaves the door to the locker room open as she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up, and then peels her sodden shirt from her shoulders. Kirsten notices the freckles littered over the sergeant’s shoulders and the dark purple of her bra before she notices herself noticing, and looks away quickly, her cheeks burning. Later, when they leave the office together with Joyce in tow, Kirsten opens her umbrella and she thinks it’s a good thing when the flimsy metal gives way to the wind and she can distract herself with battling the green nylon, because she still can’t meet Catherine’s gaze.

 

“Is everythin’ all right?” Catherine asks her. She sits on the corner of Kirsten’s desk, one of her feet resting on the edge of the empty chair next to her. She silently hands her a cup of tea and smiles ruefully.

“Twiggy tell you?”

Catherine nods, having taken an ambitiously large bite from her sandwich. She doesn’t even try to be sneaky as she swallows. “Said that Ollie left for some city job.”

Kirsten leans back in her seat and nods, wrapping her fingers around the slightly too warm mug. “Is nothin’ a secret?” she asks, feigning annoyance.

“Not around here, sunshine.”

Kirsten grins, and shrugs, picking an invisible hair from her uniform. “I’m well shot of ‘im anyway,” she says. “Better off as friends. The whole childhood sweetheart thing never works out the way you ‘ope.” She takes a sip of the tea and wrinkles her nose, looking up at Catherine like she’d betrayed her. “Catherine!”

“Seven sugars is extortionate,” Catherine shrugs, hopping off the desk. “I refuse to have any part in that kinda desecration. If you want to make it int’ some kind of tea flavoured heart attack, you know where the kitchen is.”

Kirsten smiles properly for the first time that day, watching Catherine walk away. It’s only when the other woman is gone that Kirsten notices the lime green lighter that’s fallen out of Catherine’s pocket and onto Kirsten’s desk. She picks it up, contemplates it for a second, and then slips it into her drawer.

 

She’s not really sure how she ended up arranging to stay at Catherine’s house over the weekend. All she knows is that Twiggy had told Catherine that Kirsten’s flat had flooded, and Catherine had mentioned that she had room at home if she needed somewhere for a couple of days. It was either that or some shitty hotel, and Kirsten doesn’t like to think about how her heart had done something that felt unhealthy and a bit dangerous, like tried to do five beats at once, and she’d accepted the offer as nonchalantly as she could. She’d gone home and salvaged what she could, shoved it all into her car, and it’s only now as she stands outside Catherine’s house, waiting for the door to open that she lets herself get properly nervous.

Catherine opens the door and the first thing that Kirsten notices is the Eurythmics t shirt, the joggers, and the bare feet (she’s never seen Catherine dressed so casually, and had never pegged her for the Annie Lennox type). The second thing she notices is that Catherine’s fingertips are covered in a light green dust, which she wipes onto her joggers, leaving four streaks of green over the grey. “Sorry,” she says, stepping aside to let Kirsten in. “Been playin’ with chalk with our Ryan. Come on in. We’ve got some lasagne in the oven.”

 

After that weekend, the one that Kirsten will always remember as being compiled solely of small smirks and glances and lingering touches that were almost suggestive, they start going out alone. Joyce has no qualms with this, of course, she looks ridiculously smug whenever Catherine so much as breathes in Kirsten’s direction, so when she stops getting invitations to the pub, she seems more than happy to just let them get on with it. Neither Catherine nor Kirsten address this sudden change in routine, instead their plans are injected with  _ “Joyce looks tired today, doesn’t she? Maybe we… Yeah, maybe not tonight,”  _ time and again, and each time they go out together Kirsten gets increasingly more anxious.

Tonight, she’s busy shredding the green label from the bottle of IPA she’s drinking, and Catherine’s watching her with a smirk. They’re both two beers past tipsy, and Kirsten’s completely aware of every inch of them that’s touching. That’s from their knees to their hips, and from their hips to their elbows. Catherine’s warm against her, and when someone squeezes themselves into the space between Catherine and the other table, neither woman thinks it odd when the sergeant is forced to move her arm, and there’s nowhere for it to go other than behind Kirsten. Kirsten shuffles just slightly, her cheeks hot in a way that she can’t blame entirely on the booze, and she looks up, starts to say something, and is startled by how close Catherine actually is. The words die on her lips as she glances at Catherine’s, and Catherine’s hand finds Kirsten’s thigh, resting there warmly. They both stay still and silent, neither one looking away, and Kirsten’s about to close the gap between them and kiss her when the person who’s almost inappropriately close to Catherine laughs loudly and jostles them, and the moment’s gone. Catherine’s attention returns half heartedly to the ABBA tribute band that’s playing, and Kirsten resumes her anxious shredding until there’s no more label to pick at.

 

They don’t get to see each other very much over the next few weeks. At first Kirsten thought that the sergeant was avoiding her, but then Catherine had brushed past her on her way out with an apologetic smile, and her fingers had tightened on Kirsten’s hip for a split second, and Kirsten had been left a spluttering mess.

Catherine gains bruises, it seems like each time Kirsten sees her she’s got another one, a fresher one, and Kirsten’s reminded of the first time she ever saw her, and she’s struck by how much she’s worried. She raises her concerns to Joyce quietly over coffee, and Joyce brushes them off with a smile.

“There’s been a really sudden increase in talking scrotes recently,” she explains. “I expect we’ll all get a brief sooner or later, but Catherine’s fine. You know how much she loves a good scuffle.”

It isn’t really enough to temper her concerns, but she realises it’s the best she’s going to get, and it’s almost enough to make her laugh - the fact that she’s worrying about Catherine, Catherine, who seems to actively seek out the roughest jobs she can lay her hands on. Catherine, who knows what she’s doing more than anybody else could even hope to.

They both fall into silence, Kirsten losing herself in her thoughts and Joyce leafing through her magazine, and it’s all still until doors open somewhere and Catherine’s voice floats through the building.

She lets herself into her office, covered in mud, and Kirsten looks up hopefully. When Catherine reappears, she’s got her coat on and she’s pocketing her phone.

“Joyce? I’m clockin’ off. Our Ryan’s in a play, or somethin’.”

Joyce nods, finishing her tea and standing, and Catherine winks at Kirsten before she disappears again, rushing off.

“She’s left her scarf,” Joyce sighs, looking over into Catherine’s office, and when Kirsten looks too she sees the dark green scarf slung over the desk. “She’ll catch her death of cold out there.” She’s looking at Kirsten intently, waiting for her to catch on, and Kirsten stands up hurriedly.

 

“Catherine!”

The sergeant’s about to get into her car, one leg in. She looks around, sees Kirsten jogging towards her, the scarf in her hands.

“You forgot this.” She reaches her, panting, and holds it out. Her smile fades as she looks at Catherine more carefully, sees the red ring around the iris, horrific next to the shocking blue. “Catherine…”

Catherine takes the scarf with a smile and chucks it into the car. “Thanks, love,” she says, her tone purposely light.

“Have you had somethin’ for that?” Kirsten asks, nodding at Catherine’s eye. “What do you do that gets ‘em so pissed off? No one else ends up quite as battered as you do.”

“Battered? Me?” Catherine asks. “You should see the other guy.” The attempt at a joke falls flat, and Catherine sobers up. “It’s alright. Really. I’m tough.”

“I worry about you.” The admission catches them both off guard, and Kirsten looks a little bit sick.

Catherine’s smile is soft and genuine, and she watches Kirsten kindly. “I know,” she says. “I know you do. But it’s fine - I’m fine. It’s my job.”

She isn’t sure whether it’s Catherine’s gentle tone, or the build up that’s been happening for months, or an amalgamation of both, but Kirsten’s suddenly confident enough to step forward and brush her lips over Catherine’s bruised cheekbone softly. She’s expecting to step back, but Catherine’s hands are suddenly cupping the back of her neck and her head’s turned and they’re watching each other. Catherine tilts her head, and her lips are warm and soft against Kirsten’s, and her fingers are tangled in her hair. Her perfume is all Kirsten can smell, and she’s all Kirsten can feel, all she can see. Catherine’s everywhere, she’s everything.

“See?” Catherine whispers, her breath ghosting along Kirsten’s lips. “I’m fine. I’m also late.”

They part, and Kirsten grins sheepishly, looking down as Catherine takes her hand.

“Come with me?” she asks.

**Author's Note:**

> tiss sent me a prompt for catherine/kirsten: 'the colour green'. here u go xo


End file.
